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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240845">with a love that won't sit still</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/gavorn/pseuds/gavorn'>gavorn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dragon Age: Inquisition</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Male Warrior Trevelyan - Freeform, i promise he's less boring than that sounds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:27:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,322</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/gavorn/pseuds/gavorn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>written in 2018, unpolished, posting anyway. <a href="https://66.media.tumblr.com/ecddad4aae5e89aaaa089a7bde2b3335/91f84e2e367e6270-c4/s1280x1920/c3ebfc0a16e7d8b0506503897414ec8486d17a10.png">(orpheus, for visual reference.)</a><br/>"i just stopped believing in happy endings, harbors of my own / but you had to come along didn’t you? tear down the doors, throw open windows / oh if you knew just what a fool you have made me / so what do i do with this?" - vienna teng, stray italian greyhound</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorian Pavus/Male Trevelyan, Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>with a love that won't sit still</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“You don't understand,” Orpheus says, taking a step closer. The reflections from the torches have his eyes so pale they're almost white. He opens his mouth and shakes his head helplessly. He looks lost like Dorian’s never seen him, even when the world was ending, even when he was looking corypheus in the face. He'd had nothing to show then besides fury. Now, though, his eyes are wide, like a child's. Wide, like he's scared. Of what? Losing Dorian? He knows it's the truth but he dismisses it anyway. Dismisses it til-</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I thought I wanted to die young,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Orpheus says. He’s not lying, Dorian registers - he’s never been a good liar, and the way he’s still staring, like he’s desperate for Dorian to understand - no. He’s not lying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t, I haven’t ever - I thought it would be better, when I was at the conclave, that’s why,” the words all tumble out on top of each other, and Dorian can’t put his finger on the moment he can feel his heart collapse in on itself. “I thought it would be better,” he repeats, and Dorian is reminded that the ease at which he’s always expressed his feelings with Dorian is not the norm for him. “No one’s ever needed me, not really, and then the breach, and the inquisition, and they didn’t, it wasn’t me they wanted, not really.” he shakes his head like he’s frustrated. Dorian’s still perfectly still. “And then you - you wished I wasn’t,” he says, and Dorian flinches the slightest bit. He doesn’t like being reminded that the ground between them isn’t even, that it never has been. It’s gotten easier over time - he stopped seeing the Herald long ago - but even now, the reminder is what stings. “I wasn’t - I didn’t have friends, I was always...too angry, too much, because I was lonely. And nobody wanted me, and suddenly everyone did, just for the damn mark on my hand, and I didn’t know how to handle it, and you want me for me and you made me - “ he shakes his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made me,” he’s choosing the words more deliberately now. Dorian can’t look at him. “You made me hope for things I never hoped for before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s an odd parallel of their first conversation about getting together. Orpheus must have the same idea, because he continues - “I wasn’t lying, when I said you should,” his voice a little quieter now. “And it’s not that I didn’t, I just…” pause for a breath. “I was ready to be a martyr,” he says. There’s a long pause. Dorian’s eyes are still shut. “And then I...I wanted to live,” he finishes. “because I wanted to live with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorian knows he’s finished before the sentence is over. For a second, there’s just quiet breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orpheus kisses him, once, carefully, hands on the sides of his face gentle like he’s going to break. Dorian’s not sure whose benefit it’s supposed to be for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all,” he says, sounding smaller than Dorian’s ever heard him. “I just wanted to - that’s it. I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorian doesn’t let himself look up until he’s sure he’s gone. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It’s not the going home that bothers him. That he can understand, if not relate - his parents’ estate was never any real home to him, not after Ophelia left. He’d been eight years old and he’d just lost his best and only friend. His closest brother was fourteen at the time, already almost a man. He had no time for Orpheus’s childish interests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His home is Skyhold now, but he knows that’s not true of many of the others, and certainly not for Dorian. He doesn’t begrudge him that. Dorian has always made it clear that despite evidence to the contrary, he’s still dedicated to his country. Orpheus knew he wouldn’t stay forever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The part that bothers him is where he told him not to follow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He supposes he’s being unreasonable. To have the Herald of Andraste trailing after him like a mabari pup who’s imprinted for the first time couldn’t be good for his efforts, especially if he wants to distance himself from the Inquisition. No matter how he thinks around it, the hurt is the same, though, like a snake coiled deep in his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cole is most helpful in articulating this. Orpheus doesn’t snap at him, he’s learned to keep his temper with Cole, but he takes a particularly vicious swipe at the bear they’re currently fighting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He said too much, he thinks, wasn’t careful enough with his words. He’s never been good at explaining himself, never needed to with Ophelia beside him like a reflection, Ophelia knowing perfectly how to put his feelings to words. She’d always known his heart better than he had himself. He misses her so much he can barely breathe sometimes. Maybe that’s part of it, too, that Dorian’s the only other person who’s seemed to understand him the same way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orpheus doesn’t know if hearts are wholes or halves or thirds, even, but he knows he’s already lost part of his. He doesn’t want it to happen again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thank Andraste for Cassandra, he decides, on the ninth day of Dorian avoiding him. She doesn’t pull him open the way Cole does, but she’s not going anywhere, either, and if anyone understands the state of his heart it’s Cassandra. She knows there are certain things not to ask about. He appreciates that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also appreciates that she’s still willing to spar with him, that she doesn’t pull her punches, doesn’t expect him to either. The afternoon of the eleventh day she’s bleeding from the neck and he’s pretty sure something in his arm is broken. It’s good. Hurting things, he knows how to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s looking at you,” Cole says, perched on the fence beside them. There’s a healer fussing over his arm and he’s barely tolerating it already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not,” he says, focusing on the way he can feel the bone grinding back into place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He is,” Cole says, “From the tower, the window. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He’s hurting, did I do that, did I hurt him? Broken bones and broken hearts. What a pair are we.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orpheus hisses. If Cole’s words didn’t completely coincide with the healer’s movements, nobody has to know that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Cole’s hand is surprisingly warm and wide when he reaches over. Orpheus doesn’t resist. There’s a strange gentleness to the way he laces their fingers. When Orpheus catches his eye, he looks sad, but he keeps his mouth shut.)</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to hurt you.” Orpheus stills at Dorian’s voice, but he’s not entirely surprised, either; anyone else would’ve knocked or at least announced their arrival already. “I was attempting the opposite, in fact.” Orpheus chews on his lip and doesn’t turn his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you - “ he’s approaching, stands right behind where Orpheus is seated at the desk. “May I?” His fingers are hovering over the wraps on Orpheus’s arm. They shoved the bone back into place, but most of the healing mages have already departed, so it’s just the old-fashioned way for now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather you didn’t.” If Dorian wants to be polite, Orpheus can be polite. He can’t explain it, not really - maybe he likes the reminder, likes having something physical to focus on that isn’t the ache in his chest or the pit in his stomach. Dorian’s hand withdraws like he’s been slapped.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I didn’t want you to get hurt,” he repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orpheus shrugs. “You didn’t do this. Cassandra did.” He knows Dorian’s not speaking about the bone, but it’s easier to pretend he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And Cassandra and yourself were brawling to the death why, exactly?” There’s a shred of anger in his tone for the first time since setting foot in Orpheus’s room. Good. Orpheus knows how to deal with anger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t flatter yourself.” It’s difficult keeping his voice cool. Orpheus has always burned hot, lashed out easily, quick bouts of fury. He’s excellent at saying things he regrets later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is different, though, so he has to treat it differently, and it’s easier than the sadness but not by much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe that’s part of it, that he’s not good at explaining himself, that he managed to lay himself bare for Dorian and he got nothing in return. That the words were out of order but he still felt them all, and Dorian had been silent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorian’s hand makes contact on his uninjured arm, fingers closing around his bare wrist. “Amatus - “ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please don’t call me that.” Orpheus hears the thread of pain slip through that time, and he knows it won’t have escaped Dorian’s notice either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to keep you safe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That catches him off-guard enough that he looks up, makes eye contact for the first time, even if it’s a glare. “I don’t need you to keep me safe.” His jaw is locked tight. If he’s managed to keep himself alive until now, through Haven, through the Fade, through staring a false god in the face, the idea of being in danger from setting foot in Tevinter is nothing more than an insult. “I can take care of myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your broken arm from your cherished friend is such excellent proof of that.” Dorian, unlike Orpheus, is excellent at cold fury. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t need you to protect me!” He hadn’t intended to put so much feeling into that. Dorian’s shoulders tense. He looks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That you don’t want me setting foot within a hundred miles of your home? I understand that perfectly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not letting them</span>
  <em>
    <span> have</span>
  </em>
  <span> you.” Dorian’s louder than he’d been previously, avoiding eye contact like he’s ashamed of something. Whether it’s Orpheus or his homeland remains to be told. Himself, maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the only one who has me.” Quieter, less angry. Orpheus stares down at the desk. More honest than he’d meant to be, but that can’t be helped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorian’s other hand rests on Orpheus’s neck where it meets his shoulder. He drops his head, but keeps himself from leaning into the touch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love my homeland,” Dorian says, after a silence where Orpheus thinks he might not speak again. “More than - more than almost anything. But the things it does to people who are special - “ he breaks off. For lack of words, or to regain composure? Orpheus can’t tell. Both, maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to be away from you,” he says next, and Orpheus freezes, breath caught in his throat. Of everything he’d expected, blatant rejection hadn’t been it. Oh, but - but his thumb is still stroking along the curve of Orpheus’s neck, feather-light, barely present, and there’s still love there, there has to be. He doesn’t allow himself to relax anyway, eyes closed tight, forces himself to remember how to breathe. He doesn’t have anything to say now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t -” Dorian starts. “I love you.” Orpheus hadn’t been expecting that. Hoping, yes, but the fear was so strong he didn’t think - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s never been in question, but it’s not something Dorian says often. He’s still careful, still guarded, and Orpheus can understand that, can imagine being the same way if he’d grown up without his sister to keep his heart open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Too much, maybe. More than I should.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Orpheus had never thought of himself as a romantic, but he’d never thought such a thing could be true, had always thought of love as something one did with their entire self or not at all. Once he knew what he wanted he’d given himself to Dorian freely and without hesitation. He’d always known it wasn’t the same on Dorian’s part, but he’d never thought of it in these words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stays quiet, still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I went from being Alexius’ assistant to the inquisitor’s lover. I need time not to be anyone’s...anything. I need to be my own.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can understand that, maybe, if he’s being objective. He doesn’t think he can right now, so it feels more like there’s a cactus in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Orpheus nods once. He still doesn’t open his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if you’re not,” he mumbles, words barely comprehensible. “I’m still...I’m still yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorian makes a rough noise Orpheus hasn’t heard before. His left hand slides up, putting gentle pressure on Orpheus’s jaw. He lets himself be moved, and then Dorian’s lips are on his, soft but fierce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as his chest hurts still, he responds immediately, and this, at least, they know how to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorian pulls back for a breath first, sighs, says “Amatus - “ like it’s being torn from his throat. Orpheus doesn’t stop him this time, just wriggles his arm free of Dorian’s grasp only to get it around his neck. He still doesn’t understand, but he can’t argue anymore. Eleven days. Eleven </span>
  <em>
    <span>days</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re not kissing, just resting foreheads together, breathing the same air, but they’re not arguing either, and Orpheus feels like the weight on his chest has, perhaps, been lessened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to leave you,” Dorian says finally, breaking the silence. Orpheus is about to question when he continues. “but I need to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know.” It’s not a lie. He knows, even if he doesn’t entirely understand, but maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe knowing is enough. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re both quiet again. Orpheus can never leave well enough alone, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you need to go home,” he says, so quiet that Dorian wouldn’t have heard if their faces weren’t so close as they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think -” he hesitates. Even after getting through the worst of it, he still isn’t sure if he has the courage to ask. “do you think we’ll ever have the same home?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, there, that had been what he needed to know. What he was most afraid to ask, for fear that the answer might be </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dorian makes that sound again, still rough, muffled by Orpheus’s arm on his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Someday,” he promises, with a gentle kiss to Orpheus’s cheek. “Someday.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
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